


The Mental Murderer

by ETNMystic



Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [30]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, House Invasion, hooks for hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: A girl recalls the night she just barely escaped the clutches of death.But it came with a price.....
Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726699
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	The Mental Murderer

I toss and turn in my bed. I can't help but feel that someone is watching my every movement. I feel like someone is waiting in the shadows; waiting for the opportunity to strike. 

One could say that I'm just paranoid. Others might say that I'm simply imagining him, as many teenagers do. But those people don't know what I went through. 

* * *

**_ Six years ago.... _ **

I am almost eight years old, sleeping peacefully in my bed. It will be my birthday tomorrow. I know that mom and dad have a surprise planned for me. Little do I expect the real surprise soon to come. 

My ears alert me to the sound of a door opening and closing. My eyes shoot open and I sit up in bed, worried. I stay there for a little bit, hoping that I had only imagined it. I soon hear footsteps and drawers opening and closing. It occurs to me that it might not be my imagination.

I put on my glasses and reach for the flashlight beside my bed. I creep downstairs, following the sound of footsteps, into the kitchen. I peek around the corner and shine my flashlight on the sound.

There he is. A man with spiky, ginger-brown hair. He has some difficulty opening the drawers. I don't understand why until I shine the flashlight on his hands. 

They aren't hands. In their places are two shiny, sharp hooks, not at all unlike the ones that I have seen pirates wear in movies. He dons an orange jacket and green pants. 

He turns and spots me. His face is dirty and pale. Slamming the drawer he was struggling with, he points a shiny hook in my direction.

"'Ey! What are ye doin' 'ere?" he spits at me. His accent sounds British.

I don't answer. I just stand there, my knees trembling. I lose my grip on the flashlight, but I catch it just before it hits the floor.

The man notices my fear. His frown changes into a sickening smile. 

"Well, aren't ye somefin'. Do ye live 'ere?" he asks in a sickly-sweet tone.

I shudder and nod.

"Where's yer mummy an' daddy? Asleep?"

I nod again, afraid what would happen if I didn't.

"Are they 'eavy sleepers?" he asks.

I half-shrug, half-nod, and I notice that he has been getting closer to me each time.

"Well then, I don't fink they'll 'ear anyfin' outta ye tonight. Or ever."

By now the hook is less than an inch from my throat. My eyes widen in fear. I drop the flashlight and run. It hits the floor with a bang. As I run, I feel something sharp pierce the side of my neck. I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming. 

In a hurry to reach my parents, I bump into furniture and walls. My dirty blonde hair whips me in the face as I run. I hear the man's footsteps, getting closer by the second. I reach my parents room soon enough. Just as I have my hand on the doorknob, I hear a tear. I don't look back. I fling the door open and race into the room. I shut the door behind me, holding closed for fear of the man trying to enter the bedroom.

"Mom! Dad! There's a murderer in our house! He has hooks instead of hands and ginger-brown hair and an orange jacket and---"

"Slow down, Juliet," my dad interrupts.  
"What's this about hooks for hands?"

"There's a murderer loose in the house! I saw him myself. He tried to kill me, but I ran."

My dad sits up in bed for a few seconds. Then he turns to my mom and shakes her awake.

"Nathan, what's going on?" my mom groans groggily.

"Juliet says that there's a murderer loose in the house."

My mom shoots up in bed and begins to put on her robe.

"Stay here, Cornelia, and call the police. I'll go see if I can hold the murderer off," my father says quickly.

"I'm coming with you," I tell my dad.

"No, Juliet. It's far too dangerous. You need a man for this job. You stay here with your mother."

"Dad, first of all, mom can fight just as well as anyone. Second of all, that's flat-out sexist. And third of all, I'm the one who saw him. What if he's hiding somewhere? I'm the only one who will be able to identify him."

My dad sighs in exasperation. Once I have something on my mind, I stick with it and this is something that I am not going to give up on easily.

"Fine. But stay close to me and be careful. Open the door."

Cautiously, I release my weight from the door and open it a crack. There's no sign of any hooks. No blood. Nothing. 

"Are you sure you saw him?" my dad asks.

"Just look around. He could be hiding somewhere," I say.

* * *

We search the house until the police show up. We aren't able to find him and the police claim that I was just imagining him.

"I know what I saw," I explain as calmly as I can.  
"This man had shiny, silver hooks in place of his hands. His hair was almost the color of a gingerbread man, except a bit more red. He had on a bright orange pirate jacket and grass-green jeans. Look, I even have a cut from where the hook pierced me when I tried to run away!"

I show them the bleeding cut from the hook. The police observe it for a moment.

"It seems impossible," says one.  
"I wouldn't have believed you if you hadn't shown me. But you'll need to take care of that right away. You've probably lost an appreciable amount of blood and it could be fatal for you to lose anymore of it."

After a little more searching, we come up with nothing. The police conclude that the murderer doesn't exist or left without a trace.

"We'll set up neighborhood guards to protect you, just in case he's real and he does come back," announces another, taking note of my quaking knees.

They leave without another word. Immediately, I go to the bathroom to try and bandage up the cut myself, being only eight. I grab the gauze and bandages from the cupboard and begin to bandage the cut when I hear something rapping against the bathroom window. I turn to see a figure outside of the window. It's small, but distinguishable. The figure is straight on the bottom, but curves into a C with a sharp point on the end. It sends out a clear warning to me. 

I wake up in a hospital bed a few hours later. The doctors have stitched my cut up, but I will need transfusions for a few days to compensate. The doctor's diagnosis is that my fainting was caused by blood loss. But the murderer and I both know better.

* * *

_**Present Day.....** _

They've set up the neighborhood guards like they promised, but that doesn't mean that I'll sleep soundly. Every night I tell my parents that this neighborhood isn't safe, but they tell me that it was a long time ago. They say that the murderer, who I call Captain Hook, is probably long gone by now and I should go to sleep.

But how can I sleep? Are a bunch of guards going to change the fact that Captain Hook is still out on the loose? No, they're not. I can't sleep because I know that he is still out there. 

He has already made his way to me. Mentally. My mind is a quilt and the memories of Captain Hook have stitched themselves into the depths of it, cut itself in between what should be happy memories.

Every night I hear his voice. I feel the hook against my neck everyday. I see the hook outside of my window every night. Captain Hook has murdered my sanity.

_I will never sleep again...._


End file.
